Word: bosomed
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Sound Trucks & Spielers. For three weeks, Frenchmen had been following the Tour. Truce in Indo-China, terrorism in Morocco, even Fashion Designer Dior's offensive against the bosom all receded while the nation concentrated on the biggest bike race in the world. Nearly 20 million people turned out to see the bikes go by. It was more than a sporting event, it was a triumph of showmanship-as French as a march on the Bastille or a meal with snails...
...routine, summer-weight Technicolor film that spends most of its time following a road race from the Canadian border to Lower California. Sidney Blackmer and Paul Kelly huff and puff at each other as a pair of old-crony businessmen; Piper Laurie, a talented exponent of the bosom-and-pout school of acting, stamps her foot occasionally and flirts tamely with Villain Don Taylor; Actor Curtis runs into a hero's usual hard luck in the race-he loses his way, cracks an engine block, is clearly out of the running. But to no one's surprise...
...house his own canvases. Since then the gallery has grown steadily bigger and richer, and last year it added a strikingly modern, $1,500,000 wing. But for generations the student favorite at the gallery has been a thoughtful, kind-looking lady who clutches a rabbit to her velvet bosom. The painting is attributed to Piero di Cosimo, and beautifully combines Piero's relaxed good cheer with the dressy formalism of his native Florence...
John Sherman Cooper the younger was born on a sultry August morning in 1901 and delivered by the family cook and midwife, Aunt Elvira Booker. He grew up in the protective bosom of Harvey's Hill and, with his brothers and sisters, attended Mrs. Anna Mourning's private school, an establishment maintained largely for young Coopers. (At one time five of Mrs. Mourning's seven pupils were Coopers.) Mother Cooper disagreed with her husband's ideas about private education, and one day, when Judge Cooper was off in Texas checking some oil properties, she sent John...
...escape!' or 'Buffalo!' or 'I am beaten,' until at last they cannot write a word. And, twittering all over, old before their time, with eyes like rissoles in the sand, they are helped up the gangway of the home-bound liner by kind bosom friends (of all kinds and bosoms) who bolster them on the back, pick them up again, thrust bottles, sonnets, cigars, addresses, into their pockets, have a farewell party in their cabin, pick them up again, and, snickering and yelping, are gone: to wait at the dockside for another boat from Europe...